


Old flames

by summerof16



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dorks in Love, F/M, Falling In Love, Fire, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, Nightmares, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Thor (2011), Ragnarok, The one from the myths- not the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 05:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13070091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerof16/pseuds/summerof16
Summary: From a young age, Loki cannot help but dream of Ragnarok. The visions haunt his nights and there is no cure for it. Only the comforting presence of those he loves can ward off the visions.





	1. Childhood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Keenir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keenir/gifts).



> I really hope you enjoy reading this tale as much as I enjoyed writing it. I tried to include as many prompts as I could.  
> Hope you like it!  
> Enjoy!

_The flames began as a bright pinprick in the engulfing darkness, glimmering faintly in the distance. There was just a little flicker, as innocent as the small glow of a lit time candle.  He ran towards the faint light as fast as his short legs would take him, fuelled by a dread which clenched his stomach. The light shone warmly and danced. It swayed mesmerizingly, promising warmth and company, and not the cold fear that ran down his back.  But though it tantalisingly beckoned him on,   becoming brighter and brighter until he could nearly grasp it, it ran away again, leaving him panting, and wheezing and even more alone._

_He stopped in his tracks, as the weight of the cold bore down on him. He shivered, clutching his shoulders, and rubbing along his arms, bent double. He could see the frost creep slowly over his clothes-_

_The clothes he wore were no longer his warm, and woolly tunics, but cold, hard armour and thick battle leathers, like those worn by warriors and berserkers. His cold hands were no longer the small and delicate hands of a child learning the basics of wielding magic, but long and thin._

_“Loki!” the flame cried out his name, in the rich voice of a woman. He did not know the voice, but it struck him out of his reverie, breaking the ice keeping him captive._

_His nostrils flared, and his eyes focused on the flame with determination. He had to find the voice which sought him, the voice of the one who had not left him alone in the oppressive dark. He pushed each leg forward, a step at a time, and shook the ice off until he could run again. His legs carried him further, reinvigorated by his newfound resolve, and this time he finally saw the flame for what it truly was. It was not merely been a single flame after all, but a winding path lit up on either side by flames which grew taller and taller as he ran along it. He ran looking ahead, but never too far ahead, lest he burn himself through carelessness._

_He ran, and ran, and ran, weaving along the stone path. The bricks onto which he tread darkened, the further he reached. They were charred and ashen, searing him through the soles of his boots. A wall of flames sprung up before him, causing him to stumble back._

_He raised his arm to protect his face._

_The wall stood thick, blocking his way to the voice which called him again. He turned to either side searching for an escape, but the flames beside him grew as tall as the statues of Bor. He stepped back and was whipped by a sweltering flame._

_He was caught in a tower of pure fire._  

Loki screamed.

The doors to his bed-chamber burst open within moments and a pair of Einherjar rushed in, blades held high, and ready to fend off any intruders. They traced the perimeter of the room, as the saw the boy sit upright in the centre of his large, four-poster bed. His eyes were wide with abject horror, and sweat dripped from every visible fibre of him. His tunic, moist with sweat, clung to his small child’s form.

“Loki?” a hysterical voice called from the entrance to his bedchamber. Frigga, ran in, her nightgown flowing around her, like a ghostly presence. Her hair was messy and asymmetric from sleep. Only at the sound of his voice did the vision of fire abate.

“My child, what happened?” Frigga asked, rushing to his side, kneeling beside the bed. She checked his face, his arms, his little body for signs of physical harm, and found none. She exhaled in relief and caught his gaze. His lips trembled, face crumbling, and his eyes became a valley of tears. He launched forward and hugged her tight, sobs raking through his little body. The tension immediately left her body, and she held him close, ushering the guards out with a flick of her hand.

“It was just a dream, my sweet,” she crooned, rocking him gently, from side to side, and stroking his back. He sobbed harder and burrowed his face in the crook of her neck.

“It burned, mother,” he whimpered. “Everything burned and I could not do anything. I was trapped.”

“Nothing is burning, my sweet. Nothing but my love for you and your brother.” She stroked his hair, and pushed the furs to the side, pulling him onto her lap, as she stretched her legs comfortably on his bed. “You are safe. I shall never let anything harm you.”

He nodded meekly, and gradually his tears dried, and his breathing became even.

“See, Loki? Everything is well. And it shall remain so, my child.”

He nodded and sniffed, looking up at his mother with big eyes. The door creaked open slowly, and Thor peeked into the chamber.

“What is wrong? I heard a cry, and the guard said it came from you, brother.”

“Nothing,” Loki murmured, looking away, and resting his chin on Frigga’s shoulder.

“It is nothing that I woke for?” Thor asked disbelievingly, slipping into the chamber and shutting the door behind himself. “Well, I am up now. Let’s play!” Thor beamed, rushing to the bed.

“You are not playing now,” Frigga said firmly, shaking her head. “You both need rest if you wish to grow up and become strong and smart.”

“I am strong already!” Thor grinned, flexing his non-existent muscles.

Loki snickered and nestled against Frigga. “But never smart.”

“Loki!” Thor and Frigga gasped, laughing in unison.

 

***

_The fiery wall disappeared as a foreign spell rushed from his lips, and he continued on along the path. The path divided in two, the first leading across to the palace, his home, his family, his life, and the other glimmered brighter with the unholy glitter of the burning Bifrost._

_People were screaming, the wail of families and children, young and old, brave and cowardly. How had it come to this? After everything he had done, after everything countless generations had attempted to do to stave off the bloody fury of Surtur, Ragnarok was upon Asgard after all._

_The flames shot up from all sides and engulfed him once more._

Frigga shook him out of his dreams, as he cried and yelled so loudly in panic, that the whole East wing of the palace had awoken once again. The healers did not know what to do about his fitful dreams, nor the terror that seized him when he dreamt the same dream again and again. For it was always the same. The flame, the path, the voice calling his name.

Loki blinked away tears. He could practically smell the sulphur which had threatened to suffocate them all. _All the screaming people._ He whimpered and hugged his mother.

“I am here, my sweet. There is no fire, there is no pain. It is just you and I,” she crooned, kissing his forehead.

Loki sniffed, and nodded, holding on for a long time until he was completely in control once more.

“I’m sorry, mother.”

“Why do you apologise?” she smiled sweetly, stroking his hair back, and resting her hand on his cheek.

“I keep waking you,” he frowned deeply, looking into her eyes. “I’m sorry, mother.”

She smiled tenderly and pecked his cheek.

“I would rather you screamed when afraid than be mute and terrified. It is only when you speak your heart that we can understand and help,” she murmured. He nodded thoughtfully, and bit his lip, looking down at his hands as he twiddled his thumbs. His face was pinched in concentration.

Frigga rose, stroking his hair back once more. “Sleep, my dear child. May Yggdrasil bring you sweet dr-”

“What is Ragnarök?”

Frigga froze, her lips still parted before her eyes grew wider with each passing moment. She swallowed hard. _Did Loki see…_ She shook her head, and clasped her hands together, before leaning in. “What did you say, my sweet?”

“Ragnarök?” he asked innocently, brows furrowing. “What is it?”

She bristled, and pulled away a little, standing straighter, and meeting his gaze with a schooled expression.

“Where did you hear that word, Loki?”

“In… my dream?” he said uncertainly, shrinking into his pillows.

“I see,” she swallowed hard, a cold shiver running down her spine. She stepped towards him and softly stroked his cheek with the back of her hand, and whispered soothingly, “How about we enquire about this together, tomorrow? When the suns are bright, and your father is awake.”

“Yes, mother,” he said softly, and nestled more comfortably back into his bed. His eyes were large. _Trusting._ Frigga smiled sadly.

“Sleep, my child. You are safe. We are all safe.” _For now._

 

Once he was sure that Frigga was truly gone, having waited for 100 breaths after she closed the door to his chambers, Loki climbed out of bed and rushed to the door. His lips trembled again and he quietly began tiptoeing towards Thor’s room. A hand caught his shoulder.

He yelped softly, and jumped. He swiveled around to face the one who had caught him. Before him stood the new girl who had taken residence within the palace to train as a warrior. A warrior maiden, no less. Her dark hair was unruly, and her knees and hands were scraped from beating a few boys who had called her too ugly to ever be wed. _What is her name…? Sif._ Lady _Sif._

“Are you hurt?” she whispered curiously, stepping closer to him. She was almost half a head taller than him, her eyes large and bird-like with the awkwardness of transitioning from childhood.

“No,” he whispered back innocently. “Why do you say such things?”

“Oh…” she scratched the back of her head and bit her lip. “I merely… I thought I heard someone scream…”

“That was not me,” he said quickly, not meeting her eyes.

“As you say,” she shrugged.

“I speak the truth!”

“Did I suggest otherwise?” she asked pointedly, raising her eyebrows.

He bit his lower lip and blushed.

“I suppose not.”

She turned to the side, facing the gaps between the pillars which overlooked Frigga’s garden.  “Everything here is so big,” she muttered.

“Everything everywhere is too big,” Loki corrected but nodded.

“It’s bigger here. In the palace. There is so much space and so much splendour… but…” She swallowed.

“But?”

“I…” she glanced at him but shook her head. “It is stupid.”

“What is?” he prompted softly, watching her curiously in the moonlight.

“My room is too big. I cannot sleep,” she admitted, squeezing her eyes shut, waiting for a joke, or unkind word. She waited for several seconds and opened one eye to look at him.

 “I cannot sleep after my nightmares either,” he whispered, a hot blush colouring his cheeks. “Thor lets me climb into his bed.”

“Really?” she looked at him with big eyes. “You’re a prince, what can you be afraid of?”

“You are a lady, you are scared of things too…”

“I am not _scared,_ ” she huffed, resting her fists on her hips. “I merely do not like being alone…”

“And it is the same with me,” Loki said, lifting his nose haughtily.

They stared at each other for several moments and burst into giggles.

“You know…” Loki started conspiratorially. “I do not like being alone, you do not like being alone… Perhaps…We could… not be alone together…”

“Do you mean-?” Sif gasped, her eyes going comically wide. “Share a fur?”

Loki shrugged and smiled impishly. “I would sleep much better with a warrior maiden there to protect me.”

Her big hazel eyes sparkled at his words and she pursed her lips. “I suppose a mage is a good protection from monsters…”

He puffed up his chest with pride, grinning smugly at being called a mage.

She beamed, and leant closer as if to whisper in his ear.

“The last one in your chamber is a Bilge Snipe!” Sif exclaimed. She ran back down the hall, followed closely by the young prince.

 


	2. Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mixed messages, confusion, and first experiences.  
> Growing up is difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you for sticking with this story so far!

She always woke from their joint slumber first as the gentle rays peaked past the thick green curtains of the young prince’s chambers. Sif never knew why she would wake at the merest hint of dawn, but she did not mind. In the early hours, there was peace and there was contentment. The battle lust did not rage within her veins, but she thrummed with the anticipation of a new bright day to show her worth and teach the other gangly trainees a lesson. Her fears of being alone had abated in time, as the friendships she forged with the three warrior-trainees and the princes grew close-knit, and the palace became a true home, thanks, most-of-all to the kind patience of the Allmother. However, she remained by her friend’s side as his fears could not abate, only worsen in time. She turned to her companion, her friend, her co-sleeper of many years, and smiled fondly at his calm, sleeping demeanour. While many took peaceful sleep for granted, Loki never could. Years had passed, but the visions of Asgard burning asunder still plagued his nights. _But only on the nights, she did not rest beside him_. His lips twitched into a smile on his round face, and she felt a fondness creeping over her heart. A sly little trickster, he may be, but a kindly one to her at least.

She slowly slipped out of bed, trying her best to jostle the furs as little as possible, as her bare feet touch the marble floors of the chamber. She slithered out, more akin to a worm than a mighty dragon, and rose from the bed. Her long, dark hair tumbled down her back, unruly as ever, though meekly held together by a ribbon she had tied the night before. She did not wear a traditional nightgown, preferring to sport a plain tunic of dark reds and greys he had thought was a practical yule gift. The legs were comfortable, and loose, allowing her to hop with ease as she leapt from his balcony to hers, during many a morning.

As she took a step towards the floor length curtains, which hid the balcony, she felt a small tug on the back of her tunic. Sif turned slowly, and raised her eyebrows, smirking at Loki’s dopey expression. Though he had grown into his ears over the years, every morning he was still simply the pudgy boy who shared his secrets and his life with her.

“Don’t open the curtains,” he murmured smiling up at her, drowsy in his state between sleep and wakefulness.

“Why not, your highness?” she challenged, turning around to face him. She leant against the bed, and smirked, watching him blink away his sleep.

“Because the light burns me,” he chuckled, dramatically hiding his face behind his arm.

“Are you admitting to being a _Vampir_ after all?” she laughed, sitting back down on the bed, and bumping shoulders with him.

“It takes a fool to admit his crimes to an enforcer of justice,” he winked. “I would be a mighty fool to admit to drinking the waters of life.”

“And yet you are an even bigger fool for not merely denying the allegation, is that not so?” Sif smirked.

“My, my, Sif. Have you actually been listening to our tutors recently?”

She punched his shoulder playfully and huffed mock-haughtily. “I always pay attention.”

“As you say, my Lady.”

“And I do say,” she grinned, leaning closer.

He became very aware of the close proximity of their faces. He was so close that he could see the golden specks in her eyes, and count the freckles across her nose. It was not the first time that he had noticed either of those things, but recently, every time this happened, his muscles tensed, like he was in the middle of an assessed sparring session. Everything came into sharper focus, his heart speeding up with unforeseen purposes, like a toy being wound up before it is forced to set off.

Before he could think to do otherwise, he leaned in and pecked her lips.

He saw her face transform and become wide-eyed in horror. 

A flat palm hit him hard across his face, and she was gone, escaping over the balcony.

 

Sif ran into her chamber and bolted the windows shut, pulling on the curtains to envelope the room in darkness. She clamped a hand over her mouth, as she rushed to her bed, to muffle a loud sob. _This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen,_ her mind screamed at her, as she tripped, and fell onto the bed. A wail broke free, and she gathered the furs into a bundle and buried her face in them. She screamed.

 

Loki walked a couple of paces behind Thor, as they went to the training yard that morning. He had barely touched his morning meal. The sweet scents did not entice him, as he could still feel the sharp burn of Sif’s hand, every time he thought of her mortified expression. _Am I really that repulsive?_ He thought, trying his level best not to meet anyone’s eyes. Sif was not at the training yards before them. Only Tyr awaited them, his arms crossed over his chest, as he stood in front of a pile of blunt swords. The lord of war did not smile much, and rumour had it that by losing his hand he had also lost his sense of humour with one quick bite.

“Where is my prodigy?” Tyr asked, his schooled features not showing the irritation that tinted his voice.

“Maybe she’s still asleep,” Thor yawned. “I wish I was asleep. Getting out from under the furs is a true challenge on mornings like this…”

“No, my friends, a true challenge would be Volstagg not eating,” Fandral snickered and turned to wink at Hogun.

“Or perhaps a challenge is your self-perceived amiability,” Hogun offered, gaining a number of smirks from the rest of the trainees.

“Your tongue has never been sharper, Hogun. Perhaps you will give Loki a run for his money as story-teller someday,” Volstagg laughed, nudging Loki.

“Huh?” Loki looked up at him, a little dazed. “Did you say something?”

Volstagg laughed joyfully and slapped the smaller youth’s back.

“Always a dreamer.”

Loki scowled at him but stopped as he caught Tyr’s gaze focus on something behind them. Turning around he saw her. Sif stomped towards the training grounds, her hands balled up into fists, and her shield strapped to her back. _If fury had a face, it would be Sif’s._ He gulped, and shrunk into himself, stepping to the side, so he was partially obscured by Volstagg. She clenched her jaw as she rushed towards them.

“It seems the beserker spirit has seized young Lady Sif this morn. Take heed and learn from her,” Tyr said, walking through the training yard, heading towards a set of wooden practice swords. The trainees followed him like a flock of sheep. Glancing back Loki saw her at the back of the group, her lips pressed into a thin line, and eyes wide as a feral cat’s before it pounced.

“The objective of today’s training is to strengthen your non-dominant hand,” Tyr said picking up a practice sword with his right hand and tossing it to his left. ”If a foe wounds your dominant arm,” he pointed the tip of his sword to his elbow, “then you must rely on the other. If you cannot wield a sword with that, you may as well be marked as a dead warrior immediately.”

Sif grit her teeth, and the other trainees shuffled, their fingers itching for the swords.

“Pair up,” Tyr said and stepped away. The trainees ran to the pile of swords and rushed off to get some space. Thor with Fandral, Volstagg with Hogun, and after almost all the trainees had paired off, only two remained standing several feet apart.

Sif glared at Loki, with a seething anger as she snatched a practice sword, never taking her eyes off of him. His face grew pale as she slit her eyes at him.

He gulped.

Loki kept glancing at her warily as he picked up a sword, only looking away as he tested the weight of the implement. That was when the first blow struck his side, knocking him to the ground unceremoniously. He struck the floor with his hand as he landed, and looked up at her, distinctly feeling the patch where the blow had landed.

“Begin,” Tyr called out, his back to the quarreling pair.

“That was not fair,” Loki muttered and rolled to his feet, grimacing.

“That is the state of the universe,” she said acidly and struck again, hitting him with the flat of her blade on his other side.

He winced, and held up his sword in his left hand as she came in for another blow. He blocked the attack, and slipped to the side, letting her barrel past him. She steadied herself quickly, and went in for another brute-force attack, jabbing directly at his abdomen. He leapt back just quickly enough to only feel the rush of the air strike his belly, instead of the rough, hardwood.

“Good sword control,” Tyr remarked, watching them again. “Young prince, you will not improve your ability to wield the weapon if you only evade. Try to strike back.”

“I cannot attack _while_ I am being attacked!” Loki exclaimed, parrying a quick succession of blows.

“That’s what happens to thieves,” she growled in a low voice. His eyes grew wide, and his strength waned enough for her to push him to the ground, causing his sword to thud to the ground beside him. Gasping, he pushed himself up onto his elbows and tried to scuttle away from her as she stalked towards him.

“I haven’t stolen anything from you!” he gasped.

She glowered at him, pressing the tip of her sword against his neck, standing over him.

“Not recently…” he amended, remembering the hairpin he had once sequestered away.

Her expression shifted, pain shining through the mask of anger she had worn so confidently. Her eyes pricked with tears, and she sniffed trying to compose her expression again. She pressed the sword against his neck and hissed, “You stole my first kiss as a stupid prank.”

“It wasn’t a-“

“I do _not_ wish to hear it!” she shouted at him, tears welling in her eyes.

The other trainees paused mid-battles and turned to them. They saw Sif panting with exertion, her face contorted with a slew of emotions before she threw the sword away and ran off.

 

 _Through the valley of screams, one pierced his heart more than all others combined. She called for him. Seeking him as all was devoured by Surtur’s mass. He ran through the flames, the fire scorching his skin, staining and stripping his flesh through his leathers. The fire crawled under his collar, teasing his pale flesh as it burned. He breathed an incantation and was immediately cooled, the flames hitting a layer of soothing cold resistance._ It will not last.

_“Loki!” her voice cried again, this time from another direction. He whipped around and followed the reverberations back home._

_From afar, he saw a pinprick, turning and fighting in the midst of the fire. Her dark hair floated around her like volcanic ash, and her eyes burnt like coals. Her silver and red armour gleamed in the flames._

_“Sif!”_

Loki gasped as a glass of water was tipped onto his face, his eyes going comically wide. He blinked several times as his dark chambers came into focus, as did the person standing by his bedside.

“Sif?” he squeaked.

She frowned at him, and set his glass back down on his bedside table.

“You came?” he asked, squinting to check that the girl with the unruly braid from having been asleep, was truly Sif.

“You were shouting,” she said blankly, scratching the side of her face, not quite meeting his eyes.

“But… I thought you hate me,” he said, wiping his face with his sleeve.

“I do,” she said automatically before a pained expression crossed her face. She sighed. “But that does not mean I wish you ill…“

He raised his eyebrows, and clutched his side, feeling the large bruise that had blossomed there in the days since their spar.

“…except when it is by my hands,” she amended.

“Or your blunt utensils,” he pointed out, sitting up straight on the bed.

“Or that…” she conceded, “But you deserved that!” She crossed her arms and glowered at him, though it lacked the bite it had before.

“I do not deny it,” he said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “But you were wrong about one matter.”

She harrumphed and slit her eyes, daring him to continue.

“What?”

He bit his lip and looked up at her. He could feel his cheeks flush but hoped that the darkness might obscure this. He looked down at his hands and began playing with his fingers, stretching each one carefully.

“It was not…” he gulped, and quickly ran his tongue over his lips uncertainly, “a prank.”

She drew back, and shifted her weight, watching him with a perplexed expression.

“If not a prank, why steal my first kiss?”

He sighed, hanging his head.

“You forget, it was my first too.”

She sucked in a sharp breath.

“You kissed me to be your practice doll?” she exclaimed and punched his shoulder. “Is this the respect of women that the Queen taught you? Why would you use me like t-“

“No! That’s not it at all!” he gasped, looking up at her, his palms raised defensively.

“Then why did you do it?” she shouted.

“Because I like you!” he blustered. This time he was certain that she could see the deep red tint in his cheeks.

Her jaw fell slack, and he squirmed under her gaze.

“I like you too much, and not just as a friend,” he whispered, looking away again. “You are interesting, and you are fun and stubborn and determined and comforting and ridiculously loyal… and I admire your almost reckless ambition.”

He covered his face with his hand, groaning at how stupid his words sounded aloud.

She shook her head and sat down on the edge of his bed, blinking slowly as his meaning became apparent. She stared down at the ground for a long time before she turned to him.

“Loki?” she spoke so softly that he thought he had imagined it.

“Hmm?” he looked at her, chewing on his cheek, his cheeks still burning red.

“You did not kiss me to mock me?” she whispered.

“What could I possibly mock you for?” he sighed. A prickling pain swept through his chest like a cactus had been flung against his heart. _Does she not realise how difficult it is to admit these feelings?_

She bit her lip and searched his eyes as much as she could in the shadows.

“For liking- no, for falling for a friend.”

 _Thor,_ his mind supplied immediately, turning the prickling into a wringing of his heart.

“I did not know your heart is already taken,” he whispered, swallowing hard. “I apologise for my behaviour. I did not mean to get in your way. Forget it ever happened. You have never been kissed if that is what you are worried about. I promise I will not tell a soul.”

“Loki…”

“I should probably sleep,” he said, beginning to turn away. “Thank you for kindly waking me from the nightmare-“

She grasped his shoulder and turned him to face her, and before he could utter a disparaging quip, her lips were on his, with a kiss that was too hard to be called tender, but lingered long enough to be doting.

She pulled away first and watched him with big eyes.

“But…” Loki’s mouth opened and closed several times until words strung together in his mind. “What of the person you fell for?”

She snorted and shook her head.

“For someone who is so studious, you often have the least sense of all, Loki.”

“You mean…?”

She laughed brightly and leant close, sitting comfortably beside him, extending her legs on the bed.

“I like you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Thank you for still being here!  
> If you like this chapter, please leave a comment, I would love to hear what you guys think!


	3. Adulthood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sif returns from a mission, and Yule begins.   
> Loki must make decisions. What is it he truly wants?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter! I hope you guys like it!

Sif walked down the long corridors of the palace, mineral-dust coating her boots and her overcoat. Her glaive was slung over her back, and she carried her travel bag in her right hand. Her pace was leisurely, as the sweet perfumes from Frigga’s garden wafted up from the courtyard below. Looking out beyond the pillars she saw the fountains splash, the drops tinkling gently. Up above, Asgard’s stars illuminated the palace, the radiance of the night sky taking her breath away. The sky of Asgard glimmered like glitter spilt onto a sea of dark paints, unlike the muted darkness above Nidvellir. For that had been the very darkness that had enveloped her nights during her month-long mission as the Queen’s personal guard during a diplomatic visit.

_It is good to be home._

She reached the doors to her chambers and stroked the doorknob with the tips of her fingers. A shimmer of gold swept over it and unlocked the door. Sif entered quietly, the usual stomping of her boots subdued as her weary feet dragged. The chamber was only lit by a single orb by the entrance, which filled the hall with a warm yellow radiance, which had the slightest tinge of green at its edges. Sighing, she set down her bags, her cloak, and her glaive, leaning them against the second door. She carefully massaged her neck and tilted her head back and forth. She reached up to touch the orb. As soon as her fingers met the surface of the orb, a small spark of green magic leaped from the orb and ran around the chambers, lighting up all the unlit orbs in the house.

 _Loki,_ she thought fondly, a smile returning to her lips at the slightly green glow of magic. He had cast the illumination spell on her entry orb after he had discovered yet another bruise on her hip from stumbling around in the dark. Sif walked into her bedchamber, and carefully took off each item of her armour, pausing only when she caught sight of herself in her vanity. While it had been a fairly straightforward mission, the metallic dust and rocks looked like they had seeped into her skin. She was grimy and her hair had streaks of rock dust. She pulled a face. She knew what she had to do.

Sif washed her self diligently, wiping the grime off, washing her hair twice to get the scent of iron ore out using perfumed waters, and carefully tended a small wound from an attempted stabbing of the queen. She braided her hair in one long pleat, which lay flat against her neck, and tied it with a silver ribbon.

Once all was washed away, and only the tended wound remained to prove her involvement in Nidvellir, she stepped into her bedchamber in a simple cotton tunic and fluffy slippers. She walked out into the corridor again, sealing the room shut with a touch of the outer doorknob. She walked to the adjacent doors of Loki, and his doorknob shimmered green at her touch. Sif entered quietly and picked up the orb by the door, carrying it into his bedchamber.

Her ears pricked at a sound.

Looking across to the bed, she saw Loki lie asleep, whispering, his face contorted by a dream. The years had softened his responses to the visions, but his fast breath and urgent whispers always gave his fear away. She carefully set the orb on a pedestal, and climbed into bed beside him, slipping beneath the furs and wrapped an arm around his waist.

_He stumbled backward as a fire-giant stomped towards him, raising its fiery sword. Blue jets of magic engulfed his hands, casting ice at the beast, but to no avail. Before it came anywhere near him, the ice turned into water and then steam. He shouted in shock as a new wall of fire sprung up behind him and scorched his back. Just then, the giant roared, its fierce battle cry stinging his ears. It swung at him._

_He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to gather the last dregs of magic left within him as he heard metal strike metal. When he opened his eyes, War stood face to face with the fire giant, wielding her glaive with the ferocity of a beserker. Battle frenzy screamed from her every fibre as her face contorted with rage. She snarled at the giant, and it snarled back in response._

_“Do something,” Sif shouted through gritted teeth, tilting her head towards Loki. She pushed the giant back, as his flaming sword gleamed blue._

_“What can I do?” he asked helplessly, stepping backward, though sparks of magic crackled between his fingers._

_“Help me obviously,” she rolled her eyes, still pushing back._

_Just then, she ducked, causing the giant to lose his balance. She flung the glaive down into its lava back, only for it to get stuck there. She tugged it hard, trying to pull it out, but it would not move an inch. A low, throaty laugh came from Surtur’s minion as he turned around to face her. The glaive had stabbed through to the other side, but as the molten lava wound about the metal, the enchantments upon it shimmered out of existence. The metal slumped and melted where it touched him. It straightened up, to its full height, several feet taller than her and showed its sooty teeth as it sucked the glaive into his body like a straw._

_“No!” Loki shouted, and an explosion of green magic burst from every fibre of his being, throwing the giant into the air. Just then, lightning spread through the skies, emanating from his brother._

_“All is fine, Loki,” Sif said, suddenly standing beside him instead of several metres away, as she had only been moments ago. She took his hands in hers, clutching them, and ignoring a deep gash on her thigh. Sif leant closer and whispered, “All is fine.”_

He opened his eyes and saw the darkness of his chambers. He shifted slightly, but stopped as he felt the body pressed against his back, and noticed the arm around his waist. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught her eyes.

“All is fine,” she whispered again into his ear and nuzzled the crook of his neck.

He sighed, and twined his fingers with the hand wound about his waist, squeezing softly.

All was fine, for now.

 

It was the day after the completion of the Wild Hunt and succulent meats bedecked the tables.  Mistletoe and holly decorated the feast hall ushering in Yule. Odin sat at the centre of the high-table with Frigga on his right. The Allfather whispered into the Allmother’s ear as they looked down the table to where Loki, Thor, the warriors three and Sif sat together wearing their most festive finery, exchanging tales of valour and skill.

“And thus I slew five boars with a single slice of my sword,” Volstagg exclaimed and laughed boisterously.

“I cannot believe it,” Thor laughed, grabbing his fourth chalice of mead.

“There is only one explanation if you truly did kill five boars,” Fandral snickered, his left arm wound around the waist of a blonde maiden who was seated half on a chair beside him, and half on his lap. She pushed a strand of his hair out of his face and twirled it around her finger.

“Pray, do tell,” Sif smirked, tilting her head in interest.

“The only conceivable truth is that Volstagg, in all his voluminous might, sat atop them all!”

“I did no such thing,” Volstagg exclaimed, turning to his wife Hildegard. “I did not,” he promised, eliciting a fond smile from her, as she made faces for their newest child, which bounced on Volstagg’s lap.

“It _is_ how you slew the rabbit when we made camp in Alfheim,” Hogun mused, and slowly slipped his mead.

Loki smirked, cutting the venison before him.

“Fandral, leave poor Volstagg alone,” Thor beamed, slapping Fandral’s back jovially, his words slurring a little. “It is not like I have never seen you kiss your satchel before in your sleep.”

The maiden laughed, and Fandral raised an eyebrow, a flirtatious grin on his lips.

“And I am sure it was honoured to be kissed by someone so skilled,” he announced.

Loki smiled into his chalice and exchanged a brief, knowing look with Sif, whose lips quirked up. She looked away and began engaging in conversation with a warrior seated on her right.Her hand slipped over Loki’s leg, with her palm facing upwards. He suppressed a smile and took her hand in his, squeezing it softly, and stroking the back with his thumb. She squeezed back, and let go only to resume her meal.

 

“What a beautiful view,” Loki remarked later that night, approaching Sif. She stood on her balcony, taking a deep breath as she watched the two waning moons in the sky illuminate Asgard’s old-city.

“Asgard is truly beautiful,” she nodded, not turning to face him. He came to a stop beside her, resting his hands on the rails, only centimeters from hers.

“That is true,” he admitted, though it had not been what he meant. Sif wore a silver dress he had gifted her for her last name day, though this was a secret only privy to them and the seamstress he had bribed into secrecy.  The dress was made of shiny little, rectangular metal plates, reminiscent of her armour, though lined with a soft silver cloth which spilled out luxuriously around her neck. His hands trembled a little, and so he squeezed the railing a little tighter, trying to stop them from shaking.

“Did you enjoy the feast, dearest Sif?” he asked softly, turning to watch her.

“I did,” she smiled, turning to him. “But I wish you had not been so quiet.”

“I had much upon my mind,” he said softly, smiling sardonically.

“You think too much,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “You shall strain that busy mind of yours.”

“Ah, but I cannot help but do it when I worry.”

Her face became serious immediately, and stepped closer, reached across to cup his cheek with one hand.

“Did you have a new vision?”

He shook his head and turned a little to kiss the palm of her hand.

“Nothing so dire, only my own little worries.”

“What is it you worry of?”

“Only my heart,” he said offhandedly.

“Does something ail you?” she asked urgently, her gaze and hand dropping to his chest.

“In a manner of speaking,” he nodded.

“You speak in riddles… speak plainly, Loki.” Her finger curled around the golden plate that hung on his chest.

He hesitated and took a deep, breath.

“You know I love you,” he began softly.

“As I love you too,” she nodded.

“And as we have discussed many a time, we shall tell all once you have fully established yourself as a warrior of the realm, and I have completed my first millennium of scholarly magic studies.”

“Yes, Loki. But none of this is new. What is it that worries you?”

“Perhaps, 'worry' is too strong a word… It is merely that I have been thinking-“

“-Unsurprisingly-”

“And perhaps, instead of announcing that we are in love when the time is right… Perhaps…”

“Yes?”

“Perhaps… we could instead announce a betrothal.”

Her eyes grew wide and her hand dropped to her side.

“You wish to be betrothed?” she blinked.

“When the time is right,” he nodded and reached into his pocket.

She inhaled sharply, staring at his hand. Instead of a ring, he pulled out a flat, medium box made of black velvet.

“What is this?”

“Since none must know about us, I thought, mayhaps, instead of a betrothal ring I could give you something else.” He carefully pried the box open, to reveal two shiny, curved daggers which lay gleaming in white satin. Small protection runes were inscribed on the blade, as well as runes for love and strength.

“Oh, Loki…” she sighed softly, taking the daggers out, and weighing them in her hands. “They are perfect.”

He exhaled shakily and smiled. She swung the daggers in the direction of the balcony, mimicking the motion of slitting a neck. She beamed at the sound of them slicing through the air.

“Sif?”

She stopped mid-stab-motion and turned her head.

“Yes?”

Loki laughed softly and shook his head. “You did not answer the question.”

“Did I not?” she asked innocently, her lips curling into a knowing smile.

“Will you, Sif Tyrsdottir, wed me?” he asked seriously, “Someday.”

“Oh Loki,” she laughed, and shook her head. She carefully put the daggers back into the box, and shut it, holding onto it. “Loki, you are truly a fool.”

His face fell instantly, feeling as if it was his heart that had been stabbed and not an imaginary foe.

“I… suppose I am,” he said softly, not meeting her gaze. He cleared his throat and turned away. “You may keep the daggers, anyway.”

As he began to walk back to the interior of her chambers, she grabbed his wrist and turned him back to her.

“Wha-“

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him adoringly. She held him tight, though he didn’t move, his limbs frozen in place.

“Does that mean-?” he gasped pulling away for air. She laughed and kissed him again. This time, his limbs recalled that they could move after all, and he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Of course I will,” she laughed. “There is no war, no magic, no end of times that could stop me from marrying you, you fool.”

“Are you certain?” he asked, breathlessly. “You agree to marry this weak little sorcerer?” he said, pointing at himself.

“You are neither weak not little,” she grinned, running her hands through his painstakingly coiffed hair. “Especially not where it counts.”

“You wish to wed this cowardly prince who cannot even sleep alone?” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the crook of her neck, to hide the tears of joy welling in his eyes.

“You are no coward,” she murmured, pulling away from him, forcing him to look at her. Her eyes burnt brightly with conviction. “Together, we will prevent the end of days,” she said firmly, eliciting a laugh from him. “Do not laugh, I truly mean it. You have never seen the end of the battle, and I swear, we shall ensure that Asgard rises from the flames, glistening as we are re-forged in the heat of battle.”

“And we will do this as husband and wife?” he murmured, a playful smile on his lips, as he wiped his eyes.

“As true-est partners and equals,” she nodded.

“If that is truly your decision,” he began, “There is one more thing.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You truly make it very difficult to accept a betrothal,” she remarked.

 “I know, but it is truly just a very, very little thing,” he promised.

“Yes?” she sighed dramatically.

He smiled tenderly, and kissed her cheek, resting his forehead on hers.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his eyes bright with emotion.

In the end, _now_ is all they needed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading the entire fic! I've never written a multi-chapter fic before, and it would mean a lot to me if you could let me know how I did. Honest opinions.  
> Hope you guys have a wonderful festive season!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys for reading this! I hope it was worth your while!


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